Always so many this time of year. They were but infants, some with horns and tails, some with halos and wings. Some ordinary human, but born abnormal, some from other races. Left out on snowbanks, frozen middens, on game trails, or just sitting in frigid confusion, too cold and tired to cry anymore.
With magic and love, she brought them into her traveling tower. She was a harvest maiden, and she harvested the discarded and unwanted. Her family, formerly discarded, helped her raise her harvest, her beloved little seeds of life. So they could go out and harvest themselves, there's a reason so few abandoned died these days in this world. But it was a sad harvest indeed. -- Anon Guest.
You may know the rhyme: There was an old woman who lived in a shoe... The boot, once worn by a Giant, was just a starting point. A gateway to a portable tower. The chicken legs were a necessary addition to keep it moving between destinations. After all, only Giants are capable of easily moving their own shoes.
As for what she does with it... witness.
The small hours of the night, when such wicked deeds are wont to happen. A desperate figure, hunched over a bundle in their arms. Scurrying between places of cover, or veering away from any other signs of conscious life. All with one goal in mind - to find somewhere they could leave that bundle behind.
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